


Split

by Huff_Puff



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Gen, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Mindfuck, Not BillDip, Not Happy, POV Third Person, Psychological Drama, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-20 00:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5985918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huff_Puff/pseuds/Huff_Puff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dipper wasn't himself these days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Split

_“You have…_ issues, _Dipper.”_

Issues, they’d said. He scoffed at the thought. _Issues. He didn’t have_ issues.

Yet no matter how much he tried to tell them that _no_ , he was fine, and _no_ , he _didn’t_ know what they were talking about, Stan refused to believe him.

His _parents_ refused to believe him.

Wendy wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Soos would apologize and rush out of the room. They didn’t believe him, either.

“I don’t have _issues_ ,” he muttered to himself, staring at the door, his legs drawn up to his chest. He felt his heart tearing from his chest again, a Mabel-sized hand closing around it, telling him that he needed _help_ , and that she _couldn’t_ believe him no matter how hard she tried.

And he still didn’t understand. He could never understand what they were talking about. As far as he knew, he was completely fine. He’d been the same person forced away from Gravity Falls as he had been when going there.

So, he concluded, it wasn’t _him_. Something, he decided, had happened to the others to make them _think_ it was. But the journals, as far as he knew, didn’t say anything about any amulets or gems that made people think you were crazy. There weren’t any magical beasts and creatures that could turn others against you.  
He didn’t understand. He wanted to understand.

“I’m. Not. _Crazy,”_ he whispered.

His head fell backwards against the wall, eyes staring at the off-white ceiling. He was pretty sure these places were meant to make you feel comfortable, but all he felt was isolated and cold, despite the warmth wrapped around him. He missed his things; his dinosaur tooth, his hat, his journal. He missed Mabel’s mess and Mabel’s color and Mabel’s sweaters. He missed Wendy and Soos. He even missed Stan’s hair ridden pancakes, for goodness sake!

Why did this have to happen to him? Why did they all have to abandon him?

He slammed his head back against the wall again, harder this time. His head bounced off against it uselessly, the white padding stopping him from _actually_ hurting himself. Dipper closed his eyes tight, feeling the telltale of tears welling up in his eyes.

 _“Please._ I’m not _crazy!”_ He shouted upwards. Surely they were keeping an eye on him in here? That was what these people did, right? Take care of him? Silence met his words. “ _PLEASE!”_  
  
Sniffing, Dipper rolled away from the wall, fighting against the tight white jacket stopping him from stretching out properly. He had the worst itch right now, and he couldn’t scratch it.

His face fell into his knees, burying his face into the comforting blackness as sobs ripped from his throat and his shoulder shook against his restraints.

 _“Please. Please,”_ he cried until he couldn’t cry anymore. And then, he fell back into sleep.

* * *

 

Dipper couldn’t count the amount of times he’d woken up in that same padded cell, arms hugged against his body. And he still didn’t know why. Usually, when he got his meals there was two nurses who came. One was a large, brutish woman who spoke with a thick accent from some country he couldn’t work out. “Eat,” she would say as she undid the tight jacket. It took some time for the blood to flow through his arms again, but at least for some time they were free to move around. “Eat or I force feed.”

She wasn’t very nice, but she got the job done (only once had he denied her request, and he didn’t feel inclined to disagree again).

The other nurse was quieter, kinder, too. She would sit down for a while and just talk to him. In a way, she reminded him of a far more toned down Mabel. There quirks were largely similar; they both made strange noises, and he could always feel this buzz of energy under her feet, like she was itching to move around but her job prohibited her from acting how she wanted. Sometimes, he could close his eyes and pretend that she _was_ Mabel, and that she’d never betrayed him like she had.

The imagined idea always faded.

He didn’t even know the nurses name – and when she stopped visiting him, he realized he never would.

Still, when he was feeling up to it, he’d make his way to the little window and watch the people that walked passed. Sometimes the view was blocked by a tall, broad shouldered individual that he decided was some sort of guard. Sometimes he could see clearly. Sometimes he saw his old nurse practically run passed his room on her way somewhere, never once looking into his room. Sometimes he saw the strange red burn that scarred one side of her otherwise pretty face – one that hadn’t been there before.

When he broached the topic with the strong, foreign nurse, she told him to “shut his trap and eat.”

And still, he didn’t know why he was here.

* * *

In the last few days he’d found he’d been having strange dreams; dreams where he’d laugh too hard, smile too wide. Dreams where he’d trip his nurse over (in the dreams he called her Edna), and others where he’d deliberately try to hurt himself – like stabbing his arms with the metal fork the came with his meals.

After the last dream, he noticed that the nurse had handed him a plastic fork.

Now, Dipper knew he wasn’t stupid by any means, and the simple switch from metal to plastic was enough to spin his mind into a self-damning tangent.

_Wasn’t a dream – no, wasn’t a nightmare._

_Wasn’t a nightmare, wasn’t a nightmare, wasn’t. a. nightmare._

In the midst of one meal, he decided to try broaching the topic again. All he’d said was, “Edna,” and the woman had suddenly snatched his food away and yanked his arms tight behind his back, the straight jacket done up so tight he could barely breath. “Hey! I – I…too tight!” He managed to wheeze out, eyes watering.

“I not making same mistake twice, Bill!”  
  
_“Who’s Bill?!”_ He bit out through his panic, heart stuttering in his chest.

Edna didn’t answer. Instead she stood with a strange expression on her face – one he couldn’t read. She loosened the jacket slightly, and before he could get a word in edgewise, she was gone with his plate. One swipe of her key card and she was out the door.

The door slammed shut with a thud.

He didn’t sleep that night.

* * *

 

Ever since first hearing _that name,_ the dreams had been getting worse. He wasn’t himself during these times, he knew in the depths of his mind. Something was happening to him, and he was spiraling out of control. Instead of dreams, he was beginning to think of them as ‘blackouts’. Blackouts that he was starting to remember piece by piece, little by little.

Maybe he _was_ crazy after all.

The worst part about admitting it to himself, Dipper reasoned to himself, was that everything he thought he knew about himself felt false now. He’d always prided himself in being the logical sibling, the smarter sibling. He worked things out, he used reasoning to understand problems and answer them.

His mind had always been his.

And now he didn’t even know who he was anymore.

 _Bill._ That was what the nurse had called him. He didn’t know any Bill’s – a William or two, a Billy, even, but no _Bill’s._

So why did the name feel so…so _right?_

He almost didn’t want to know.

* * *

 

At the strangest of times, he was beginning to find his mind _drifting._

The name ‘Dipper’ was leaving a foul taste in his mouth, and more often than not, he referred to himself as ‘Bill.’ Bill was _right_. Bill was _smart._ Bill knew how to get the _heck out of here_.

 _Anything is sharp enough,_ he caught himself thinking one day. _All I have to do is steal Edna’s clipboard, break off the metal, and stab her in the jugular. Easy enough._

These thoughts were starting to disturb him less and less as time went on. In fact, they were beginning to feel normal. Commonplace. _Right._

Dipper? Ha! What a stupid name.

 _Bill_ didn’t have a ‘split personality disorder’ – no, that was ridiculous.

To think this his ‘condition’ had been sitting plain as day on that fat nurses clipboard that whole time was irksome, to say the least.

“Oh, would you just _shut up and die already?!”_ He bemoaned at the twitching woman on the ground. He stepped back from her with irritation, gripping the sharp metal dog clip in one hand. “You’re getting blood on my socks, you oaf!”

Bill sighed with irritation. “Wet socks aren’t pleasant, you know. And here I was thinking that it was your job to wait on me and make sure I was comfortable! Well, I’m. Not. _Comfortable.”_ He wasn’t getting a response, and that was _annoying._ He kicked the large nurse viciously, a brief scowl crossing over his face. “You’re no fun. I thought you’d give me a better fight than the other girl, at least! And she got _acid_ poured over her face. Yeesh!” He stretched his arms out, undoing the final buckles and belts along the jacket before tossing it to the ground. A grin widened across his face, and he bent down to finish his meal, chewing down a few carrots. “Want one, Edna? No…I suppose you won’t need food where _you’re_ going. HA!”

The woman was staring at him with glassy eyes, and Bill felt amusement rattle him. “Dead already? Wow, you bleed fast!”

Cracking his sore neck, Bill let out a loud huff. “Kay…time to get down to business.”

And without a second thought, he’d readjusted his makeshift weapon, stained red, and pulled open the door.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually don't even know what this is. Oh well, I had fun writing it!


End file.
